


The Luxury of Kin

by wrothmothking



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, Animal Abuse, Cannibalism, Gen, Self-Harm, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25742824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrothmothking/pseuds/wrothmothking
Summary: At the beginning, there are two. The Indominus, and Sister.Or: How to Make a Monster 101 by Dr. Henry Wu, courtesy of Masrani Corp. & In-Gen at Jurassic World.
Relationships: Henry Wu & Indominus Rex
Kudos: 11





	The Luxury of Kin

She struggles from her egg under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, her sensitive, squinting eyes darting between the two figures craned over her, more watching from behind a pane of glass. She ignores them for now.

It's a warm nest, and she is _tired_. She barely has the strength to preen bits of shell stuck to her back by embryonic fluid. Chuckling, one of her...packmates, she supposes, first unsurely and then with a great surge of instinctual affection, takes a piece off. She chirps, a parent-call, and he frowns. The other, slender, all white, _like her_ , grips his hand and guides it to rest softly on her back. Trilling at the contact, she leans into it.

“Satisfied?”

“Little nice, isn't he?”

“'She', and she won't stay that way. Perhaps not even with those she'll be raised by—we engineered the _Indominus_ to imprint on a human parent, but we cannot be sure of its effectiveness until she no longer needs them.”

_Indominus._ That's her. Much of the rest doesn't make sense to her, not yet, but she recognizes the name whispered to her while she slept. She decides she likes it.

The hand leaves her.

_Father._

The man who must be _Alpha_ scribbles a note. He's the one Father looks to whenever she moves or vocalizes.

“So what, this one your breakfast?”

He taps on her nestmate. His hand, once so soft and warm upon her scales, curls around the egg, and she-

She launches herself at Father, her jaws snapping closed around his wrist. He squeals, falling on his ass, the _Indominus_ landing hard on the floor beside him, teeth forced to breech skin, blood of kin flooding her mouth, shouting and slamming of doors-

Father yanks her off. A strip of flesh comes with. Guilty, she spits it out.

She's handed to—tossed at, more like—Alpha while pack gathers around Father, snarling.

But she swallows the whine in her throat. She won't regret, and she won't apologize; the _Indominus_ may've been born moments ago, but she knows what happens to eggs removed from the nest, and she knows, too, that her sibling is strong. There is no stench of weakness or death plaguing the nest. The _Indominus'_ s nestmate is simply _late_.

Cradled in Alpha's hands, neither kindly nor the alternative, the Indominus has a momentary, beautiful hope _he_ is hers instead—but no. The sea of white is not made of scales, it's cloth, and Father smells familial. Father'd hovered close, expectant, joyful. Alpha's hands are cold, the texture odd, unnatural. She tries to gentle her fury; _Father is Father_ , and the mistake of impatience is surely equal to her hurting him. Given a moment's thought the _Indominus_ is no longer sure Alpha's blank neutrality is preferable. At least Father is easy to read. Predictable. Prey-but-not.

Just as well, since Alpha leaves after returning her to the nest. Father stares after, scowling. After eyeing her for a moment, he follows, nodding to one of the pack who takes it as a signal to set up as sentry in the far corner. No one responds to her curious chitter or anxious scraping of talons on metal.

A shrill whine escapes her throat as she curls up beside Sibling. She wishes they would hatch so she could bask in shared warmth.

She's thirsty. Blood still coats the inside of her mouth. Dried bits of it stick to her muzzle. The realization sets a fever in her brain, and she's clawing at her own maw, heedless of the pain. The man in the corner yells at her, rising to his feet but refusing to approach, fear shining in his eyes and permeating his . He flounders, unsure what to do.

The _Indominus_ doesn't care. She carries no piece of this one inside her, and Alpha and Father _left_.

Finally, he scrambles out the door.

The reddened scales cling to her hand. She pries them off with her teeth, delicate, whimpering, swallowing them whole as she does. Without an audience to ridicule (and secretly wish would comfort, assure, _help_ ), everything feels worse. The open air burns her flesh. The solitude raises her hackles, leaves her examining every shadow or distant sound. The electric humming of machinery buzzes through her skull, building a terrible headache. She thinks she can hear Sibling's heartbeat. She thinks they're being watched, even if there's no one behind the glass, no one peeking through the vents above or listening through the door. Her thermal sense gives her nothing—nothing that minimal investigation doesn't reveal to be inanimate.

Abandonment tears through her system like disease: chills wrack her frame, acid eats at her throat, her vision blurs, and a horrible emptiness _pulls_ at her from her gut. It takes the _Indominus_ embarrassingly long to figure out there's more to this than simple loneliness.

She hops down, smacking onto the floor on her side as her legs crumble beneath her. She's weak. Uncoordinated. Now that she's discovered her appetite, it's voracious, consuming. It feels like dying.

Her limbs cooperate, allowing her to stand and fetch the skin she'd taken from Father's body. Guilt drowns in furious hunger even as Father's hair makes her choke. She supposes he lost the right to complain by not having food at the ready for his hatchlings; the _Indominus_ vows to do better by her own future progeny. Rage bubbles in her blood, and though she knows even in this moment how it will dissipate upon her pack's return, the distraction is soothing.

She clambers back into the nest. Sibling's egg remains unbroken; unsurprising, yet still disappointing. Overheated and zombie-like, the _Indominus_ settles away from Sibling, in the path of the artificial breeze. The sting of chemicals it carries turns her near-empty stomach, but she doesn't feel like she can move.

Is it normal to be so affected in so little time? Surely it's impossible for her to be actually starving to death. Surely, the pack would not have overlooked feeding her if it was, and, surely, they would be back shortly with the remains of a successful hunt.

Sibling's egg trembles.

Oh no. _Stay there_ , she thinks. _There's nothing for us out here_.

Sibling lives to be contrary.

The shell fractures. A chirp sounds. Sister emerges.

Crooked jaw. Droopy eye. Coloring a light gray instead of the _Indominus_ 's pearlescent white. Other than that, Sister may as well be a reflection. Including that, Sister makes for the most beautiful sight the _Indominus_ has ever seen—will ever see. Because this is a creature she will spend the entirety of her life with, the one she shall share with all things. Sister is on the same level of importance as the _Indominus_ 's future mate and children.

The _Indominus_ greets her with a warm trill, crawling towards her on her belly, neck curved low to beseech Sister her affection.

Sister allows the approach, head tilted in consideration. The _Indominus_ stops at the edge of what she estimates to be Sister's personal space and waits. Her heart pounds as Sister hesitates, as though unsure what to do with her. But then Sister croons, stretches her neck-

And touches her muzzle to hers.

With a delighted chatter, the _Indominus_ nearly bowls Sister over, tackling her in her excitement. Sister is warmer, scales of a smoother texture, no quills sticking out of her—a set of differences making her the perfect pillow.

Sister flops down, slow, controlled, making clear this choice is unrelated to the _Indominus_ 's weight pressing on her. The cushy material of the nest flutters about as she huffs. She does not otherwise complain, seemingly content to be cuddled.

She does parent-call.

The _Indominus_ whines, in part because she's already learned the futility of it herself, and also because their new inactivity has returned her attention to the hole in her stomach.

Sister parent-calls again.

No response. Anxious, Sister nibbles on the arm of her twin. Sensing her fear, the _Indominus_ keeps still for her, rumbling something comforting. She parent-calls next, showing Sister the issue isn't with _her_. It's both of them, or it's unrelated.

Even so, she must—and does—believe the pack will return soon. It's illogical to assume otherwise; of course, it's also illogical to leave one's barely-hatched and yet-to-hatch alone. Or with such a poor minder.

Father should've stayed himself. The thought sits in her mind like a knife piercing her brain, cold steel and the shock response of enduring agony too great for her to properly process. She shies away from the blasphemous contempt taking root inside her—the pack is more important than any single individual.

The _Indominus_ gnaws on the bedding scraps. Instinct is enough to tell her not to eat them, but desperation holds out against common sense. After a while, Sister joins her. The taste, at least, is better than her own scales. (And far worse than Father's.) Her guts continue to ache.

The door opens. Alpha enters, flanked on each side by more men in lab coats.

And emanating from a bucket clutched in the left one's hands, the smell of raw meat.

Sister croons, a combination of relief and gratitude the _Indominus_ is too irate to share. But she does slide off of her, sitting beside and opening her mouth wide in a show of begging she's already embarrassed by.

The aid hoists the container onto the nest. Alpha smiles, nods, and he and his comrade make their exit. Later, the _Indominus_ will recognize their faces through the glass wall. Just now, however, her attention is focused on Alpha and the nourishment he's brought them.

* * *

The _Indominus_ learns her name is not her own. It, as well as Asset, sometimes The Asset, is a designation she shares with Sister. Confusing as it is, the _Indominus_ does not mind—she shares everything else with her nestmate as-is. Privately, however, she thinks the awe and terror instilled in each horrific syllable of _Indominus_ fits her better. _Indominus rex_ can denote them both, but _Indominus_ is a title she's won by right, born first and the winner of their dominance fight.

Currently, Sister is sulking in her tunnel. She often is. Morning and evening, she parent-calls.

Father never came back; Sister never met him. Sister says he must've been an egg thief, says their real family must be out there, lost in the concrete mazes of their world, searching for them. The _Indominus_ knows it's an impossibility, but she allows the delusion, and decides to believe Father dead, implausible as it feels. _Dead to her_ sounds better.

The _Indominus_ snarls at the false greenery lining their den. It does nothing to soften the lights shining down on them, or broaden the four walls caging them. The claustrophobia doesn't lessen her loneliness; pack enters only to feed them or collect them for Alpha and his needles. The fact only a handful of the figures she watches spy on her through the glass can comfortably fit the room makes her want to escape to be with them, instead. If the dangers of the outside world truly constitute _this_ much security for Sister and herself...well, perhaps they would still be safer living in Alpha's shadow.

Bored, the _Indominus_ stacks her blocks. Stands a few steps back, ready to pounce—or charge. With a deafening roar, she steams through them. They scatter with a clatter, one's rough edge dropping painfully onto her skull—she barely notices through her protective hide. She presses down on another, mouthing at it, rolling down and onto her side as she gnaws. An experimental bite has a shard of wood scraping against her tongue; disgusted, she spits it out, delighted when it hits Sister's hidden form. She growls, but the _Indominus_ is consumed by her small, wanton destruction. Biting at the block, ripping it apart with her talons, she tears it asunder.

And then she is, again, bored. A dozen other blocks are smothered under her, but she no longer wants anything to do with them.

A dozen feedings have passed since her hatching, and in that time she's learned of diminishing returns. So, she hunkers low and sneaks to an opening to the tunnel, peeking in.

Sister glares back, daring her to start some mischief.

Huffing, the _Indominus_ leans in, licking a stripe up her forehead. Sister returns the affection with a purring nuzzle, her cloying body heat distilling the _Indominus_ 's anxious tension. She next lays her head upon her folded arms, pretending to sleep. The _Indominus_ could join her, were it not for the spark of pure energy sitting at the base of her skull, keeping her alert. Ready. What for, she lacks the context to guess.

Instead, she leaves Sister be for the moment, mentally logging her position so that later, once Sister's well-asleep and unwary, the _Indominus_ can scare her right out of her safe haven. Her sickle claws tap the concrete below as her excitement swells through her. It'll end in a few nasty nips for her, but then Sister, feeling guilty, will be attentive and patient and play with the _Indominus_ as much as she likes—at least for a day.

The men across the glass catch her attention. There's two of them, as there always are, even if they're often changing. The left one types a note into his laptop, his eyes remaining glued to her, while the right sips his coffee, gaze darting between her and the security screen on his desk every few seconds, too nervous and inexperienced to keep proper track of either. That one, with the green-tinged paleness and the bent nose, he's afraid of her. Worse: he hates her, too. She's not sure why he would rather she be dead, but receiving this vitriol from a member of the pack she and Sister depend on for survival frightens her.

A circle of fear. How funny.

The other, at least, examines her with a careful neutrality reminescent of Alpha. Disparate: this one smiles when he feeds them, fondness leaking through what rationality warns him against.

Or so the _Indominus_ imagines. Sister thinks she imagines too much—another thing they share. At least the _Indominus_ has the sense not to dream of being rescued by perfect, doting parents.

Returning to the matter at hand, this caretaker is half Right's size, darkly-skinned, long hair tied back into thick, intricate braids. She chirps to him, curious, victory thrumming through her veins when his pearly whites show themselves again in an expression of joy. His features are strong. Disciplined. She wonders if it could make up for Right's size advantage, should her attempts to ingratiate herself to Left brew animosity to the point of a dominance fight. If Left loses, so does she and Sister the security of a pack mate's good will.

She bears her teeth back. He frowns; she repeats this, too. It's good she does, for it allows him to understand her acts as mimicry, not threat. Delighted, they grin at one another.

Right scowls, troubled already. The _Indominus_ wants to lie flat on her belly, limbs sprawled in all directions, and _keen_. Until he forgives her. Until he enters her holding cell and _holds_ her like her hindbrain demands.

Maybe she can convince Left to hold her instead. Someone. _Anyone_.

Sister is lovely, her affection cherished, but the _Indominus_ craves the power and presence of a large family, vicious little beast that she prides herself as.

Alpha appears in the glass.

Left follows her gaze, nearly falling out of his chair when he spots Alpha lurking behind him. Right swallows, stiff as the already-dead. Instinct informs her these are fear responses, and though they excite her, they're also confusing. She tilts her head, studying the pack's interactions. Any alpha wishing to maintain position has to command respect, but Left and Right behave as prey before a drooling predator. Fear weakens bonds, trust. The pack ceases to function; they can no longer orchestrate even simple hunts and risk turning on each other in the blood rage of battle.

It is not something the _Indominus_ has learned. It is simply something she knows, like how, huffing as she pulled herself from her egg, she mastered walking despite having never witnessed such a feat. Her legs moved on their own, the knowledge coming to her through the ancient lineages of a dozen species, extinct and extant alike.

Of course, she doesn't know what she is. Not yet. Not consciously.

What she knows is the trepidation in her heart, the dark, certain promise of awful things in her future.

Alpha and Left come in. Left to languish at his station, Right's nails pick at his chapped lips, vibrant, beautiful red dribbling. Unconsciously, the _Indominus_ licks her chops.

Left kneels, opening a plastic carrier. She's expected to crawl inside; the first lesson they taught her.

She hesitates. Croons, pitch beseeching.

Sister hisses. The tunnel trembles as she shifts further in, to the middle, seeking nonexistent safety.

The hard way, once again.

Loyal despite her afternoon revelations, the _Indominus_ shuffles into the tiny den. Having walls lining three sides, holes the size of her head gifting her with a view of the outside world, it would be a nice place to nap. But the one entry/exit point is closing soon, and there's no room to maneuver or fight should a threat wonder in. The space is too cramped even without Sister forced in beside her—the width allows them to lay down, one in front of the other, and the length allows them to stand abreast one another, faces pressed to the gate.

Or it did. Too soon, the _Indominus_ presses the top of her head to the back wall, the tip of her tail grazing the grill at the front. She can no longer stand. She's grown. Is it normal to grow so much, so fast? The change feels wrong. Daunting. She growls as she piles herself in a ball, talons scraping along the bottom as she pushes herself deep enough to afford Sister her share.

The gate closes without her.

Shrieking, the _Indominus_ , charges, jaws failing to lock around the narrow crosshatching. Heedless, Left takes up the carrier. Outside, Sister howls, careening from her hiding place to save her.

But like the gate, the door closes quick, an _Indominus rex_ trapped on either side.

Sister trills, an attempt to comfort. The _Indominus_ whines back, inconsolable, dropping to all fours for balance as the carrier's jostled.

“Hey now, it's alright,” Left murmurs, changing his hold so his two hands can keep her bearer stabilized. Alpha's pace doesn't slow to accommodate Left's care, though, and a minute later he has to abandon it.

The _Indominus_ gnaws on her forearm to prevent herself from broadcasting her misery. Sister is gone, and everything is worse now. She misses her enclosure.

She's let out onto a table, and though she flinches at the cold, she doesn't retreat. Despair has done nothing for Sister but gain her disfavor, and Alpha cared not for the dismay of Left and Right.

A trio of white coats loiter around her, attentive, twitchy. Their details cobble together in the _Indominus_ 's mind—the needle steals her mind. The prick stings little, enough to warrant a dissatisfied hiss or glower, but nothing more. Her encroaching nausea stems from the dizzying feeling of bizarre liquids shooting through her veins and precious blood being pulled out, a disquieting wrongness neither treats nor pets can make up for.

She snaps at the hand reaching for her, purposely missing—a warning. But Left, stood behind her, still registering as an ally, leans over her, pressing her into the stainless steel, hands like clamps on the back of her head and circling her arms.

A sting, and sleep befalls her.

* * *

The _Indominus_ wakes to find herself returned to her enclosure, nestled in a new blanket-lined plastic bin with a snoozing sister. She prods Sister with her muzzle, sounds an inquisitive chirp, but she doesn't stir. Drugged, then, same as the _Indominus_ had been.

She rises-

_Ow_.

Her shoulder hurts. Craning her neck around, she spots a flash of black zigs and zags, passed the reach of her teeth. Her uninjured arm-

_Knock knock_.

Tensing, the _Indominus_ slowly tilts her head to the source: the glass. Alpha is there. He shakes his head, message clear. Gaze locked upon his, the _Indominus_ again stretches-

_Knock knock_.

Another head shake. Huffing, the _Indominus_ settles back onto her belly, burying her vulnerable side in Sister's.

A buzzer. The door slides open, and Left pushes through a cart from which the tantalizing scent of fresh meat emanates.

Reward. A paltry comfort, but the _Indominus_ 's hunger is too great for her to refuse on principle. Salivating, she barely restrains herself from pouncing when Left sets down a pair of trays and removes their lids. He is higher than her in the proverbial pecking order, so she needs his invitation to eat the food he brings.

A step back, a wave of his hand, and the _Indominus_ descends.

* * *

They grow. They eat. They grow more.

Alpha's visits grow rarer, and no one enters their enclosure anymore. Meat drops down from the ceiling, and once every collection of days, the cycle never remaining the same, they are tranquilized while their enclosure is cleaned and the pool filled with fresh, clean water.

The _Indominus_ no longer considers their captors pack. Sister's nightly parent-calls don't cease.

Sister sleeps. A lot. The _Indominus_ passes this time pacing, bored, craving any kind of stimulation. Sometimes, she runs at the walls, figuring out how high she can go, how long she can stay up. And sometimes, she doesn't hop up at that critical moment, testing instead her pain tolerance and healing. The men behind the glass yell at her for it, and Sister growls and roars and whines, but all these things provide is entertainment. Even wholly negative attention becomes a positive, sought-after experience. Her muscles and bones already ache for reasons unknown, so the sparse damages she incurs are no great annoyance—instead, she finds it comforting to have injury with clear cause behind it.

Fortunately for her bruised sternum, Sister rouses from her nap. She rumbles for breakfast, but it's yet to arrive.

With a groan, she lumbers onto her side, limbs unfolding in all directions. The _Indominus_ wonders if Sister hurts, too.

When Sister makes no other movement, the _Indominus_ refocuses. She squats near a vent beside the glass wall, eyes glued to her own flesh as she practices her camoflauge. The voices of their keepers drift through.

“I hate slow days. Makes me more nervous.”

“Yeah, well, keep paying attention. Wu will skin our hides if we don't document the assets' progress in triplicate.”

“Do we really gotta worry about that one? Last time she did something was when they got in that fight last week.”

Five days ago, actually, though they'd fought last week, too. Two ravenous young with little to do in an ever-shrinking enclosure, it's to be expected.

“I don't think she's got cuttlefish? Yeah, no, it was, uh, song thrush and giant armadillo instead. Less raptor, for sure.”

_Less_. Sister is less.

Guilty, the _Indominus_ banishes the thought; she's gotten the wrong impression, obviously. Sister can't echo some of her vocalizations, but neither can she many of Sister's, and she may have no sickle claw, but they are twins just the same. The _Indominus_ should tear out their throats for speaking of her with such derision in their tones.

A long moment passes before one speaks again: “Uh, shouldn't we feed them?”

“Wu wants to see how they react if we withhold.”

“ _I know that_ , but it's already been forty-five minutes. Do we really wanna be trying these guys' patience?”

“You have a problem, take it up with the boss.”

A sigh.

A pause, full of tension even the distant _Indominus_ picks up on.

“Listen. We've already sped up their growth way too much—that shit's gonna have consequences _without_ childhood malnutrition. Isn't Masrani gonna be pissed if they end up deformed and disabled?”

“Tch. Masrani's too far up the chain to worry about. We wait 'til we're signaled.”

Snarling, the _Indominus_ bangs her head on the wall.

The men jump. The meat does not drop down.

She bangs her head again, then a third time.

Sister whimpers, crawling over to nose at the _Indominus_. Her soothing purr and confused warble kill her violent instinct.

Agony flares through her skull in pulsing waves. With a trill, the _Indominus_ clambers half-atop Sister, burrowing her face in the curve of her neck.

The food doesn't drop down that day, or the next.

The _Indominus_ can no longer pass judgment on Sister's constant rest. Kept unstimulated by the debilitating weariness eating through her bones and the cramping in her guts, the _Indominus_ does much the same. An inborn familiarity with the concepts of madness and losing self haunts her free-falling psyche, but still she lays there, trading tired nudges with Sister and holding her hand. She tries to ignore how quiet she is. Used to be, she'd be making a ruckus every waking moment, however short their supply seemed to be. Her presence, once a fact of being, seems now a luxury. The trauma of their blissfully-short separation for surgery seems laughable.

Another day passes, and Sister is less. Another day passes, and Sister is a luxury. This is survival. A test. Only one of them is truly wanted.

So, the _Indominus_ opens her mouth. Scenting the air, the stink of their watchers. Scenting Sister's kin-scent.

She bites.


End file.
